


The Three of Us, Always

by leinthalexandra, starshade



Series: We Shield Each Other [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Porn, Angsty Schmoop, Denial of Feelings, F/M, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Threesome - F/M/M, child from incest (mentions of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leinthalexandra/pseuds/leinthalexandra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starshade/pseuds/starshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although Frerin and Dís have been together for some time, they've always known that something was missing. It's taken them a long time to find a way of getting their elder brother Thorin to come around as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Three of Us, Always

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of an excerpt from a longer fic centered around the relationship between the three Durin siblings, which you can read more about [here](http://disqueenunderthemountain.tumblr.com/post/46105044390). But this is basically porn. Just lots of porn.

Thorin had intended to take three  _separate_  rooms at the inn. Actually, he’d intended to be home this evening, but an unexpected bout of bad weather made the idea of returning to the mountain tonight an unpleasant one. The inn it was, and only two rooms it was. He supposes he should consider himself lucky it had been two, rather than one. He’s been trying to avoid being stuck in close quarters with his siblings since he discovered them. Every time he looks at them, all he can think of is how he’d found them.

He’s had trouble thinking of anything else. While some part of him that isn’t nearly as small as he would like to believe insists that if they were willing to seek such pleasures in each other, then perhaps… But no. They were young, reckless, foolish.

Telling himself that, that it wasn’t likely to last, made keeping his hands to himself easier.  He ignores the fact that being caught had done little to dissuade them—that the birth of Fíli had done little to dissuade them.

The rooms are adjoining, the door between them left open. Thorin thinks of insisting that one of them stay with him, but if they want to see each other in the night, separate rooms will not stop them, and nor will he. Much as he might selfishly, jealously wish he could keep them from having what he wants, and knows he can’t have. They were his  _siblings_ , for Mahal’s sake, and had found companionship in each other besides. The trio that they had once been had become the pair of Frerin and Dís, leaving Thorin on the outskirts, and torn between wanting to stay there, and wanting to be with them, in every sense of the word.

“Good night,” he mumbles, without looking at either of them, before leaving them to their own devices and closing the door between the two rooms with more force than is strictly necessary.

Dís stares at the door for some time after Thorin disappears behind it. It’s been nearly impossible for either her or Frerin to determine if their attempts have been…successful or not, though admittedly they have been subtle—or at least, subtle for Frerin.

But the look on Thorin’s face…

Frerin comes up from behind her and holds her close. “Something’s on your mind,” he says, “and I think I know what.”

Dís sighs and rests her hands on his arms. She doesn’t bother answering the unspoken question; there’d be no point.

Frerin rests his chin on Dís’ head, staring at the door Thorin had slammed shut. “You did see the way he stared at us over dinner the other night?” he asks. He feels Dís nod. Frerin had caught Thorin watching them more than once, just as he’d caught him staring on several occasions before that. Perhaps he was only seeing what he wanted to see when he thought it looked as though the looks were  _longing_ …

After all, their attempts at trying to subtly lure Thorin to them had either gone unnoticed or ignored.

Though Frerin was rarely wrong about such matters. Maybe subtlety was simply the wrong approach. “Do you remember when you wanted Thorin to teach you to wield a sword, and he said no because Father wouldn’t have approved?” Frerin had still been training himself, and not as skilled as their brother; Dís had wanted to learn from who she deemed the best. The only way they’d gotten Thorin to change his mind had been to make as much of a ruckus with blunted practice swords as they could any time Thorin had been in the practice ring to see them, and eventually his frustration over Frerin giving Dís poor lessons had gotten him to intervene, and take Dís’ lessons into his own hands…

She turns around to face him, a wary smile on her lips. “Frerin, are you suggesting what I seem to think you’re suggesting?” Dís remembers the sword training, and how she and Frerin had finally gotten Thorin to acquiesce and finally teach Dís himself.

The look on Frerin’s face tells her that yes, it’s exactly what he means, and Dís barely has a chance to say anything before she’s shoved towards the door, her back hitting hard against the wood. She only laughs, though, and Frerin catches her mouth in a deep kiss. It’s harsh and rough and Dís loves it, knows that Frerin enjoys taking matters into his own hands. Dís herself doesn’t mind it either, but she can also give in when the mood strikes her…and right now is one of those times.

Even so, she can’t help teasing a little; let him chase after her a bit. After all, Dís doesn’t want to give up too easily, not to mention that the more noise they make, the more likely it is that they’ll attract a certain someone’s attention from the next room….

—

Thorin jerks at the bang on the door, the glares at it when he hears Dís’ laugh. He rolls over on the bed, turning his back resolutely to the door. Something crashes in the next room, followed by another laugh, and Thorin closes his eyes, tries to concentrate on something. anything else.

That’s…manageable for a time, until he hears the first moan. Thorin shoves his head under his pillow and tries to ignore the shiver the sound sends up his spine, and the spark of heat it fans.

The pillow does nothing to drown out the continued thumps—moving away from the door, in the direction of the bed, and  _curse_  these walls for being so damned thin—and the groans, and once, a demand in Dís’ voice for Frerin to stop teasing… Which abruptly turns into a string of choked out curses. Thorin bites the inside of his cheek to try and distract himself from wondering… imagining what Frerin might be doing to make Dís’ sweet voice trip over guttural curses in Khuzdul… What Dís might be doing to coax such desperate noises from Frerin—

Thorin groans, presses the pillow harder against his head, and absolutely refuses to acknowledge the the pulse of heat in his cock.

His gods’ cursed brother and sister. He’s never wanted to kill them more. It’s late, they’ll need to leave early in the morning to return home, lest Thrain accuse them of using the weather as an excuse to shirk their duties, and Thorin has had far too long a day as it is. He wants to  _sleep_ , and perhaps, for once, not be plagued by fantasies of his brother and sister, and yet here they are, making his life hell with a waking one.

He turns over, presses his face into the mattress, keeps the pillow clamped tightly over his head.

He hears another loud  _thump_  from next door as something hits the floor, and there’s twin moans, loud and long…

Thorin rolls out of bed with a frustrated—in more ways than one—and angry growl, and storms towards the door that connects their rooms. He throws it open as though he doesn’t know what he’s going to see on the other side, and it’s only fear of bringing other people down on their heads that keeps him from shouting when he says, “I agreed not to tell Father of this, but if you think that means you can flaunt it about as you like for everyone to hear, and interrupt my sleep!”

And he makes the very very dreadful mistake of looking, rather than focusing on some innocuous object on the floor; sees both of them sprawled on the bed, wearing not a stitch…

Another fan for the flames, and he stumbles over his words when he continues. “You—I—I expect better of _you_  at least, Dís.” He knew Frerin didn’t care a whit for propriety. He’s starting to wish he didn’t either…

Dís and Frerin exchange a sly grin when Thorin enters the room, red-faced at the sight of them. They’d barely even started, in fact, in hopes that their plan might work, and just as he had when they were younger (although in much different circumstances), Thorin had been unable to keep himself from barging in on things.

“I’m sorry, brother,” Dís says with a laugh, clearly not at all sorry. She twirls one of her loosened braids around her finger and notices when Thorin’s gaze is drawn to it. With a sidelong glance at Frerin, Dís sits up a bit, letting the sheets fall away, though there isn’t much left to the imagination as it is. She moves closer to Frerin, who drapes his arm across her shoulders; his hand brushes lightly across her drawn-up knee and along the top of her thigh.

Getting Thorin here had been, well, the difficult part. Hopefully this next one would be a bit easier, though that remained to be seen.

“Are you quite finished yelling?” asks Frerin.

Thorin tries not to look, and yet his eyes follow Dís’ fingers as they play with her hair, are drawn to the heavily muscled expanse of Frerin’s torso, caught by the movement of the sheet as it falls away to expose Dís’ breasts… But what holds his attention, as it had the last time he’d caught them like this, is the closeness, the intimacy, even in the smallest brush of Frerin’s fingers over Dís’ knee… What he craves to have, with both of them.

“I wasn’t yelling,” he says, unable to think of anything else to say. So distracted is he that he can’t even find it in himself to be worried about the looks on their faces. “I just… need sleep.”

“Looks like you need something else entirely, to me,” says Frerin, with smug grin, as he brushes his fingers lightly over Dís’ collarbone. He inclines his head at Thorin.

And Thorin…Thorin is half hard, from having only listened to them, and seeing them has done nothing to help the matter. He needs to leave. He needs to leave now, before he  _can’t_.  _Why?_  he wonders.  _Why leave?_  If they were willing. But he can’t. Regardless of…of  _this_ , he’s still their brother, the one meant to look out for them… there were so many reasons why he couldn’t. So, so many, that matter less and less the longer he stands here.

“You  _could_  join us,” says Frerin, as casually as if he were asking Thorin to join them for a sparring match.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Thorin snaps, out of reflex, before what Frerin is suggesting has even managed to sink in. When it does, it doesn’t change his answer, despite every inch of him screaming to say yes, to give in. To say damn the rules, and let go. “I can’t.” He can’t, he can’t, he can’t…and yet he also can’t bring himself to leave the room, either, even when he should. He really should, before he did something he’d regret later.

“Can’t?” Dís echoes, leaning forward. She can see his gaze drift from her to Frerin and back again, can see the uncertainty mixed with want that he tries so hard to hide. “Or do you think it wouldn’t be ‘appropriate’?”

She doesn’t think she can stand it much longer, the desperate need for them both making her want to stand and drag Thorin over to them. But Dís won’t do it, not until he says yes. And Mahal knows how badly she wants him to say yes.

“It’s not the same without you,” she adds, glancing at Frerin, who nods before they both look back at Thorin. “It’s always been the three of us.” The ache in her heart starts to fade away, fades to nearly nothing as she feels Frerin’s warm presence next to her and can see Thorin standing only a little closer than before. But the fear and doubt that he might still turn away keeps its grip on her heart nonetheless.

“Please,” says Dís, her voice low. It’s cold now that the blankets have been pulled away and she has very little of Frerin’s body heat to keep her warmed up, but hopefully they’ll have their answer very, very soon.

Thorin’s throat tightens at Dís’ plea, and her voice, and the look on both their faces tells him this isn’t a whim, isn’t some game they’ve decided to play to torment him. They want this,  _him_ , and they’re offering… All he need do is reach out and take.

The three of them, always the three of them, in everything. Where one was, the other two weren’t far behind, what one felt, so too did the others… It had always been so, and this time spent distancing himself from both of them, when he’d realized how he felt has been hell. Knowing that they were together, that Fíli was their child, it had only made that fierce longing for things he shouldn’t want even worse.

He swallows, and it’s quiet enough he can hear the click of his throat when he does. They’re both watching him…waiting, silently pleading. He sways forward, but doesn’t quite take a step. There was still so much wrong with all of this, and so many reasons he needed to leave. It was only that he couldn’t recall them anymore…

“I-…” He may never get another chance. If he rejects them now, they may never offer again. The last sensible part of him left says all the more reason to say no. To walk away and shut the door and be done with it.

“Thorin…please,” says Frerin, shifting closer to Dís, putting a hand to her shoulder. His voice is steady, but sounds strained… As if he were afraid.

He is, Thorin realizes. Afraid of Thorin saying no, as if it would be some devastating thing…

Thorin takes one hesitant step forward. “The three of us,” he says, slowly. “Like always.”

At Thorin’s words, Dís laughs with giddy, nervous relief. She squeezes Frerin’s hand on her shoulder before getting up and pulling Thorin forward, slowly, giving him a chance to move away. “You’re absolutely sure?” she asks, and his fingers tighten over hers in response. Dís tugs at his vest, undoing the buttons as quickly as she can and pulls it off of him. With a glance back at Frerin, who gives her a reassuring look, Dís walks herself backwards, bringing Thorin with her until her knees hit the edge of the bed.

Thorin stays still when Dís sits, afraid to move. He  _is_  sure, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t also terrified. He’s been fighting this, trying not to want them, for so long now that even after making the decision to  _stop_ , he can’t quite bring himself to take the final plunge.

He does bring a hand up to follow the line of Dís’ jaw, tipping her chin up to have her look at him. She, and Frerin look suddenly as uncertain as he and somehow, that’s something of a reassurance. Dís takes his hand, kisses his palm, and it sends shocks up his arm.

Frerin walks on his knees over the mattress to settle behind Dís, and dots her bare shoulder with a line of kisses, all the way up her neck, and to her ear, where he says, “We knew we’d have to loosen him up.”

If Dís responds, Thorin doesn’t hear it, suddenly distracted as he is by her hands tugging at the lacing of his tunic. He fleetingly thinks that there is still time to escape before Frerin raises up again, and pulls Thorin to him by the lone braid in his beard into a kiss, with Dís still between them, still working at Thorin’s tunic.

Thorin makes a muffled ‘mmph!’ of surprise, and years of denial, and telling himself no means his first instinct is to pull away—but Frerin holds fast to his braid, and the touch of  his lips on Thorin’s chases any other thoughts away, and Thorin lets himself sink into it, lets the haze start to take over his mind.

Dís manages to finish with the laces and pulls at Thorin’s tunic, forcing them to break their kiss for just an instant while she tugs it over his head. She traces her slim fingers down the middle of his chest and smiles when she feels him shiver under her touch. Frerin is still behind her, keeping Dís pinned between him and Thorin; the feeling of skin on skin is exactly right, so much more than she’d ever thought it might be.

She reaches down and fumbles with Thorin’s trousers, glancing up to make sure that he’s all right with this. He seems so skittish but slowly giving in, and Dís knows well how Frerin’s kisses can be…intoxicating. Everything slowly clicks into place as Thorin’s hand moves to rest at her hip, the other against Frerin’s, and Dís finally gets Thorin’s trousers off and shoves them down. She can’t help gasping when she feels them both hard against her, heat rising in her cheeks and she’s dizzy and drunk on every single sensation, every single second.

Reaching back behind her, Dís drags her blunted nails up along Frerin’s thigh; he gasps and pushes forward against her and she gives a soft laugh. Dís pushes off the bed to stand between them and Frerin follows quickly after her. She’s trapped even tighter between them now, and Dís presses a small, barely-there kiss at the hollow of Thorin’s throat, standing on her toes in order to reach. Trailing kisses down to his collarbone, down his chest, moving her hips as she keeps going further and further down, nipping at his navel and earning a small groan from Thorin.

“Do you still think that it’s so ridiculous now, Thorin?” she hears Frerin murmur. Dís grabs at the back of Thorin’s thighs as she bites softly at the flesh just below his navel, moving across to his hipbone and kneeling in front of him.

Thorin only has a moment to worry about the chill in the room when Dís so quickly relieves him of his clothes before she’s pressed against him, and Frerin behind her, and suddenly everything is hot, like the fires in the largest of their forges. More than that, it feels…  _right_ , the three of them. Just as they’d said; the three of them together, as it had always been, and was always supposed to be.

He wants to tell Frerin to shut up, though, at his comment, but Frerin will hardly let him breathe, and Dís… Oh, Mahal, Dís… He can feel her, moving lower, and lower still, and he knows he’s shaking under both of their ministrations. He buries one hand in Dís’ hair, not pulling, only needing something to ground himself, and curls the other against Frerin’s hip as Frerin sucks a bruise at the hinge of his jaw, his beard scraping along Thorin’s neck.

He groans when Frerin fists a hand in his hair and pulls his head back, to bare more of his throat. “So many things we’ve thought about,” he says against Thorin’s skin. “What should we start with, little sister?”

Dís hums a laugh, tracing nonsensical patterns along Thorin’s skin. “I’m not sure,” she says airily. “As you said, there’s so many things we can choose from…” Thorin’s fingers carding through her hair and along the braids hidden underneath sends a small shiver along her spine. “Although I have an idea or two.” With that she brings her hand around and takes Thorin’s cock in hand, licking at the tip while she trails her fingertips along his shaft. Dís slides her lips over the head of his cock and grins around him when she hears his long, broken moan.

Her free hand comes up to press into his trembling thighs, stroking his flesh with her thumb in gentle, repetitive motions. The hand tangled in her hair seems frozen, as though Thorin is unwilling to push her any further than she’s gone so far. Frerin’s hand is tracing along her shoulder, towards her neck, along her back; Dís can hear their heavy breathing between messy, wet kisses. The image of it in her mind makes her inhale sharply and she feels dizzy with lust.

Thorin leans forward—Frerin most likely pulling Thorin towards him in some way—and Dís presses hard on the hand in her hair, makes Thorin push her head further towards him, taking even more of his cock into her mouth.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she, brother?” Frerin says above her. Thorin’s only answer is a loud groan and a sharp, shallow breath.

He tastes like salt and sweat and something bitter, but her eyes flutter closed as she lets go of his hand and reaches down to rub her fingers against her sex. Waves of pleasure wash over her and she takes deep shallow breaths, Thorin’s cock still in her mouth, but her bottom lip is now the only part in contact with his flesh. Dís licks along the underside and Thorin’s hips buck forward, pressing himself further into her mouth.

She wants  _more_ , wants to feel them both touch her everywhere, their hands trailing along every inch of her skin. But right now there’s this, there’s Thorin, inside her in this way that Dís had never dared hope to have, and it sends a thrill through her and makes her rub her fingers harder against herself in small circular motions.

Thorin can’t  _breathe_ , much less find the words to answer Frerin, not that he thinks Frerin needed one. Dís’ mouth is burning hot around him, and Frerin’s nails score down his chest, and Thorin is suddenly very sure that they are going to be the death of him. Frerin scrapes his teeth along the shell of Thorin’s ear, and Thorin finally finds in himself to take some sort of action, dragging his fingers along Frerin’s hip, and down to take his cock in hand. Frerin’s nails bite into the flesh of his ribs.

“Oh, don’t stop now, brother,” says Frerin, breathing against his ear, then his hand is covering Thorin’s, guiding his strokes, pulls, and twists, showing Thorin exactly what he likes… He’s panting in Thorin’s ear, muttering encouragement and demands, as he thrusts into their joined hands.

And between them, Thorin sees Dís, her mouth around his cock, her own hand between her thighs, and Mahal,  _both_  of them are beautiful, and more than he could ever have hoped for…and perhaps more than he can handle. His breath still catches in his throat, and the trembling in his legs only gets worse, and he can feel the tension and heat pooling low in his belly already. “Dí- _í_ _s_ ,” he chokes out. If she doesn’t stop—

But Frerin pulls her away, by the shoulder, Thorin coming free of her mouth with an obscene noise, and it’s lucky that Frerin takes the base of his cock in a vice grip to stop him coming, then. Thorin’s moan turns into a strangled whine as he’s denied the release.

Frerin only smirks at him. “Not yet,” he says. “We haven’t even begun yet.” He pulls Dís up to her feet, and Thorin…Thorin can’t resist; he reaches out, drags Dís to him, and kisses her, hard, tastes himself on her tongue, and groans into her mouth.

Frerin pushes the pair of them towards the bed, until Thorin’s knees collide with it, and he topples back onto the mattress, and now both of his siblings are standing over him, and both look completely devious… Mahal help him, he’s not going to survive this.

Dís falls onto the bed with a laugh when Frerin shoves at them, and she’s sprawled on top of Thorin as she lands. She pushes up onto her knees and wraps her arms over Frerin’s shoulders as the two of them stare down at Thorin. Her lips curl up into a sly grin and she exchanges a glance with Frerin. Thorin already looks gorgeous, all spread out on his back like this, his hair a wild mess, panting and clutching tightly at the sheets on the bed.

Then Dís pulls Frerin’s head to the side by his hair and seals her lips over his, his tongue slipping into her mouth; she’s sure that Thorin’s taste still lingers on her own tongue and Frerin hums against her lips, pulling back with a devious smile on his face. He then places his hands on either side of Thorin’s head, bending down and looming over him as he bites and sucks at a spot on Thorin’s neck.

A thought enters Dís’ head and she laughs a little before she slips her hand down to grasp Frerin’s cock. He pulls back from Thorin and hisses a gasp at the touch; Dís bites at the skin along his shoulder. She doesn’t have a chance to do much more, however, as the next thing she knows she’s on her back lying on top of Thorin, who runs his hands along her inner thighs, close to where she wants him to touch her—

“Don’t,” Frerin warns. “Not yet.” He brushes over the nubs on Dís’ breasts until they stiffen, and she throws her head back against Thorin’s shoulder with a gasp, her hips lifting up. It’s torturous now that the tables have been turned on her, and she feels herself growing wetter and more desperate as Frerin runs his thumbs along the undersides of her breasts, sucking at the skin and leaving small red marks there.

Then he wraps an arm around her shoulders, his other arm around her waist as he pulls her up flush against him. Frerin’s hand moves down from her waist, further down and she shoves her hips against him, trying to push up so that her cunt is lined up with his cock and give herself some  _relief_. But then Frerin spins her around and she cries out; her head lolls back against his shoulder, Frerin’s hand on her wrist, the other trailing down her stomach, further and further until he reaches down and pushes her thighs apart.

Dís feels open and exposed, spread out to where she’s positioned directly over Thorin’s cock. Her cheeks are burning and desire heats the blood coursing through her, her heart pounding wildly and every part of her feels on fire. Then finally,  _finally_  Frerin presses one finger inside of her, and she feels his cock pressed against her ass, thrusting forward, and Dís gives out a long, ragged moan at the dizzying lust that seems to overtake her at being on display like this.

Thorin is dizzy, drunk from the feeling of Dís being atop him, then can only watch as Frerin pulls her away, teases her, then spins her around and spreads her out above Thorin, and it’s a slow sort of torture that has Thorin grasping at the sheets, fisting them in his hands. He wants so badly to brace his feet against the mattress, to shove up, bury himself in Dís, but Frerin’s weight pins his legs, and he can’t move, can’t even shift his hips up to try and rut against her for some sort of relief…

The shift of Dís’ hips as Frerin pleasures her only makes it worse, as every so often there is the lightest brush against his cock, either from Frerin’s hand or Dís, he isn’t sure, and it doesn’t matter, all that matters is that it’s a teasing, barely there sensation that has him keening for something more. Frerin watches him over Dís’ shoulder, lips curved into a devilish, almost cruel grin as he pulls breathy moans and curses from their sister.

That is the final straw: Thorin lets go of the sheets and starts to reach down to take himself in hand, because he needs  _something_ , but Frerin catches his hand and grips his wrist tight. “Hands off,” he says, making it clear it’s not a request—a shudder runs up Thorin’s spine—and tosses Thorin’s hand away.

Thorin lets out a frustrated, choked growl, and starts to reach down again, as why should he listen to his little brother but Frerin grabs his hand again, and  _Dís_  gives him a commanding look, digs blunt nails into his stomach, even as she arches into Frerin’s touch, and Thorin lets his hand drop, to once again grip tight at the sheets. He curses at both of them in Khuzdul, but he does not try again.

“ _Please,_ ” he chokes out, when it all becomes too much. Every inch of him aches, and burns, and screams for release, and he flexes his toes, tries in vain to arch up under their combined weight.

Frerin’s still rocking gently against Dís from behind, still moving his fingers inside her when he turns his head and bites at the silver cuff on Dís’ ear and murmurs, “Should we let him feel you, sister? As I have?”

Dís nods, panting and shaking, needing something more than just Frerin’s teasing fingers inside of her. Frerin pulls away and she moans just a little, but his hands are grasping her hips; she braces herself on Thorin’s chest, his skin hot and slick beneath her hands.

“Ah! F-Frerin, I-” she gasps as Frerin guides her down onto Thorin’s cock, and he feels so damn good inside of her. Mahal help her but Dís knows that the last piece of the aching emptiness inside of her has fallen into place, that she’s taken both of them into herself and there’s nothing separating the three of them from one another now.

“Go on, sister,” he breathes in her ear, “ride him. Ride him hard.”

She begins to move, thrusting her hips down and breathing hard; every movement has her moaning, her head hanging down and every inch of her skin drenched in sweat. The heat inside her, the heat between her thighs, it’s so much and she thinks she’ll fly apart at any moment. She says their names over and over, her voice barely a whisper but growing louder as she and Thorin fall into a hard, fast rhythm together.

Thorin’s moan catches in his throat when Frerin guides Dís onto him, and he goes utterly silent as he throws his head back, unable and his vision goes blank for a moment. Then Dís begins to move, and he can feel Frerin moving as well, and Thorin’s entire world narrows to only Dís’ nails on his skin, the feel of her around his cock, Frerin’s ass on his legs as he moves behind Dís. 

Frerin keeps one arm wrapped around Dís, his fingers still tangled in the curls between her thighs, rubbing at her in time with her, and Thorin’s movements. Thorin grips Dís’ thigh tight with one hand, and Frerin’s arm with the other, gasping out their names.

“See what you’ve been missing, brother?” Frerin says, his own breath short, now. Thorin feels fingers pressing into his thigh hard enough to bruise and he hisses through his teeth at the feeling, but Frerin only smirks at him from over Dís’ shoulder. “You’re ours, isn’t he, Dís?”

It doesn’t matter what Dís’ answer is, if she has one; Thorin knows he is, has always been. He’s at their mercy, and there is nowhere he would rather be, now or ever again. He grabs Dís by the hair, pulls her down into a hard kiss, and he’s so damn close it  _hurts_ , his blood practically boils in his veins and even the scratch of the sheets against him makes him quake…

Dís pulls at Thorin’s hair hard when he drags her down, her hips rocking against him hard and fast; then Frerin tugs on Dís’ hair as well, as though giving Thorin permission to leave his own mark on Dís’ neck. She lets out a strangled cry, pressure and heat and all of it building, Frerin’s hand against her and Thorin inside her. She’s riding a wave of pleasure as she grabs Thorin by the hips and thrusts down hard against him.

And then it all crests and crashes down over her; Dís moans long and loud, breathing hard as she loses all control of herself and her body. White fire seems to run through her veins and is all gone in an instant. She wants to collapse over with exhaustion, but her brothers haven’t come yet, and she pushes herself back up in order to speed them towards their release.

Thorin takes the silent permission, to arch up and bite and suck a mark onto Dís’ pale throat, caring little for how she’ll hide it later; let them all bear each other’s marks for now. Let them be claimed as each others.

His hands scramble and claw at both of them, as he can feel himself winding tighter, and tighter as Dís cries out, and clenches around him, her movements stuttering and faltering. Frerin is cursing repeatedly to himself, and with the arm still around Dís, he curls his fingers against Thorin’s stomach, pulling at the coarse hair there, and the sting of it has Thorin shouting, his eyes slamming shut as his release hits him like a hammer, and he arches up off the mattress. Sparks light behind his closed eyes and he feels as though he’s being wrung dry, drained of any last remnants of energy he has in one crushing wave of bliss and fire.

He sinks back against the mattress and everything feels distant, but Dís, and Frerin are both still moving and Thorin practically whimpers at the continued stimulation on overwrought nerves, but he can’t, and won’t tell them to stop.

Frerin moves away from behind Dís, then, to kneel beside both of them, still hard, and Thorin, before he can think about it, clumsily reaches for Dís’ hand, and has both of them take Frerin’s cock in hand; they’ll bring him off together.

Dís lets Thorin take her hand in his and wrap them both around Frerin’s cock; Frerin gives a small shudder and a short cry as he hangs his head and tries to catch his breath. It doesn’t take them long to make him come, and he falls next to Dís, so that each of them are on either side of her.

The only sound for some time is the sound of their heavy breathing, the three of them completely and utterly spent, exhausted, needing sleep. But Dís turns her head slowly towards Thorin, wondering if they ought to talk about it all. It was clear that he seemed to enjoy himself, but she has to be  _sure_. With Thorin, it’s always best to be sure.

“Thorin…” she murmurs, running a finger gently along his cheek. His eyes are shut, but he opens them when he feels the touch of her hand.

“Leave him be, Dís ” says Frerin, half-heartedly, still panting. He rolls over and throws an arm over Dís’ stomach, to rest his hand on Thorin’s, where he taps his fingers. Thorin grabs his hand to still his fingers.

Thorin hums at Dís when he opens his eyes, and catches her hand with his own and holds her there when he turns his head to kiss her fingers. “What?” he asks, and his voice is still wrecked, and he can feel his hands shaking. He would like nothing better than to let sleep claim him now, and keep hold of him for perhaps the next week. Yet at the same time, he wonders whether he’ll not wake up in his own bed and find that this has been a…very vivid and intense dream.

Frerin lifts his head to watch both of his siblings, as if he hadn’t just told Dís to leave it be.

“I just want to make sure, Frerin,” Dís says wearily. “Thorin, you’re certain that this…this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

She’s tired, more than tired, and the heat and weight of them next to her threatens to send her into sleep at any moment. But she has to know.

“It’s not what  _I_  wanted,” Frerin mutters, in mock disappointment. “He’s still capable of speech.”

Thorin ignores his brother… which is surprisingly easier to do now than it had been before. “It is,” he says to Dís. Later, he wonders if this won’t haunt him, but… for now he is content, sated, and exhausted. He rolls onto his side, and struggles to prop himself on his elbow so he can lean down to kiss Dís slow and deep. He pulls away, then drags Frerin to him, over Dís  and kisses him as well, taking in the differences between them. “It is,” he says again. “The three of us, always…” They were each other’s shields, each other’s support, each other’s worlds.

Dís smiles, leaning over to kiss Frerin when Thorin pulls away, kissing him on the tip of his nose when they part from one another. “I’m glad,” she says quietly. It’s always been the three of them, and everything feels _right_  now, the pieces all fallen into place. She curls her legs up, her brothers’ arms around her and their legs all tangled together, all three of them touching and being touched. It’s almost the same way they’d done when they were children, when one or the other had a nightmare and they’d all three crawled into bed together. She falls into sleep, knowing that for now, they’re safe, and they’re together, all of them.


End file.
